


Spartan Men

by Nautilust



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, But the romances have haunted me ever since, Currently replaying for 'research', F/M, Fluff and Angst, I just wanna make everyone smoochy smooch, I played this game like two years ago, Mutual Pining, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, is that so wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27033007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nautilust/pseuds/Nautilust
Summary: Kassandra felt herself flush, speechless… and uncharacteristically shy. She said nothing as Thaletas moved into her space, those deep brown eyes almost hypnotic as they flicked back and forth between hers. He captured the side of her face in his calloused hand, the strong hand of a soldier…“You deny yourself so much for the sake of others,” he said, stroking her bottom lip with his thumb. “But can you let yourself have this?”***Three drabbles about three Spartan men who love Kassandra, and two who she loves back.
Relationships: Brasidas/Kassandra (Assassin's Creed), Kassandra/Stentor (Assassin's Creed), Kassandra/Thaletas (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	1. Thaletas

Kassandra eased herself down onto the sand, sighing in relief as she kicked off her boots. Still panting from the final battle, she laid her weapons by her side, then cast off her armor plates, one by one. When she finally flopped down in exhaustion, she was wearing only her breast band and underwear. She didn’t care. Her body was tired from the fight, tired from years of travel, tired from the endless machinations of the Cult. But right now, in the warm light of the setting Mykonos sun, she felt like she’d earned her victory.

Here, in the Silver Isles, it was over. Thanks to her, the Cult was finished— the battle won, Podarkes dead, and Mykonos, she hoped, soon to be returned to its people.

But there was still one matter of unfinished business. And he was currently walking up the cliff toward her, stealing glances at her in a way that made her pulse quicken. 

“We owe you so much, _Kassandra_ ,” Thaletas said, peeling off his own armor as he joined her on the bluff. “We can never pay you back for our gratitude. But I thought I could show you this.” He gestured broadly to the view.

Slowly, Kassandra sat up, taking in the sight around her. Mykonos was always beautiful, of course. But right now, with the setting sun casting the world in a faint amber glow, it looked as though Midas himself had once touched these islands. She felt like Ikaros, gazing out over the glimmering Delian sea, looking down on the surrounding islands— the mountainous shores, the tiny people, the proud ships…

“It's a beautiful view, Thaletas,” Kassandra said. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“You're very welcome, _misthios_ ,” Thaletas said. For once, his voice sounded easy, untroubled. 

She heard his discarded chest plate hit the sand behind her, and was suddenly very distracted by the thought of him stripping. She kept her eyes straight ahead, not wanting to intrude.

“It’s my favorite place on the island,” Thaletas continued. “I come here to train. It helps me escape my thoughts, my worries.”

At the sound of another piece of armor hitting the ground, Kassandra smiled, despite herself.

“Yes, I can… see the appeal,” she said.

“ _Mm_ ,” Thaletas hummed in thoughtful agreement, sitting down near her. “I’ve always found that exhausting my _body_ … clears my mind.”

He leaned into the light suggestiveness of it, and Kassandra chuckled softly.

“However…” he continued in a more serious tone. “I have many fewer worries now, thanks to you.”

She could feel his eyes on her now, making her skin feel warm. She swallowed.

“I’m… happy I could help, Thaletas,” she said softly. 

“ _Help?_ ” he said with a laugh. “You organized a successful revolution, Kassandra. You _freed_ Mykonos. I don’t know if you realize how extraordinary you are. You did in two months what we couldn’t do in _three years_.”

Kassandra looked away.

Perhaps it was the betrayal at the center of her childhood. Perhaps it was her years of deprivation on Kephallonia, or the backstabbing nature of her trade. But whatever the reason, Kassandra had always found it difficult to take a compliment. 

“That’s… kind of you to say,” she said at last. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thaletas staring at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She was a _misthios_ , not a revolutionary. Having an allegiance just made her feel her own moral vacuum all the more.

“That’s not all, Kassandra,” Thaletas said, his voice lower. “For the first time since I crashed here, you’ve made me remember…”

Noticing her expression, he paused.

“What is it?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, ashamed.

“I’m no hero,” she said, brow furrowing. “I kill people for money. I take what I need without caring who it belongs to. I bring misery wherever I go.”

Thaletas huffed in disbelief. She heard him get up, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“Sparta,” he said, looking out across the water. “You remind me of Sparta.”

She stared at the sand.

“That’s what I was going to tell you, Kassandra,” he said. “For the first time since I crashed here, I’ve remembered what it feels like to be a _Spartan_.”

Thaletas had no way of knowing how she felt about Sparta. But when she didn’t reply, he kept going.

“I’m in awe of you, Kassandra,” he said, his voice a hushed confession. “Your strength, your skill on the battlefield, your sense of justice… you might think you’re just another hired killer, but you’re _wrong_. This island is crawling with mercenaries, but not one of them would have done what we asked of you.”

He paused, facing her, but she kept her eyes on the distant horizon.

“Do you want to know how I know that, Kassandra? Because we _asked_ them. They wouldn’t do it, not even for the money. Too dangerous, they said. Not enough reward in helping the _powerless_.” He spat the final words as though they pained him. 

For the first time, Kassandra realized how trapped Thaletas really was. Shipwrecked, unable to go home, forced to lead men because his superiors perished… 

“You're a good person, Thaletas,” she said quietly. “Your men know it and I know it. Not everyone would see the oppression on Mykonos and immediately try to fight it. With your charm, you could've been eating roast _sfirida_ with Podarkes every night. Instead, you fought him.” 

As an afterthought, she added, “I admire that.” At this, Thaletas seemed at a loss for words. She could see him scratching the back of his neck, looking around like he was lost in thought. Indeed, his voice was more thoughtful when he spoke again.

“Maybe you don't believe it, but you’re a good person too, Kassandra,” he said. “I have seen it. No man or god could convince me otherwise.”

Kassandra considered this. Considered it long and hard. It’s true she would take contracts that any other _misthios_ would laugh at. Peasants offering to pay in wool and grain. Wild huntresses who paid in pelts. Children looking for their parents, who could pay nothing at all… 

Her face must have softened, because Thaletas’s voice was softer when he spoke next.

“My grandfather's helmet,” he said. “You didn't have to. But you did.”

Kassandra cast her mind back to when they first met, when he had asked this favor of her with nothing but pain in his eyes. _Please, misthios. I lost everything in that shipwreck. If I could just have my grandfather's helmet back…_

She supposed not many would have swum down there, risking death for someone they had just met. But she couldn't bear to see a kind soul like Thaletas in so much pain. _Hadn't he lost enough? And couldn't she ease his burden with this one small gesture?_

A light dawned in Kassandra's eyes. _Was Thaletas right about her?_

“I come up here alone,” he said quietly. “To train. To drive my body to the brink of exhaustion over, and over, and _over_ , just to try to remember what it feels like to be a Spartan.”

He pointed to a dark patch of water that Kassandra knew well. 

“Every man I ever looked up to died on that ship,” Thaletas said. “Now I’m the Polemarch for our few remaining men. What I do up here, I do it for them. But it’s so, _so_ difficult. This isn’t _home_. This is a tragedy that the gods have seen fit to cast me in.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sit down among the ruins, closer to her than before. She swallowed. 

“But then _you_ came along, _Kassandra_ ,” he said, his voice softer. “And one conversation with you made me feel more like a Spartan than three years of spear drills, three years of high kicks, three years of sweat and blood and _pain_. And when you joined me in battle, when you helped me _lead my men_ , I became yours forever. That’s the truth. I swear on my mother’s grave that I have never seen anything so beautiful as the way you handle a sword.” 

Kassandra lifted her head, lips parted, stunned speechless. 

“And you reminded me of something I had almost forgotten,” Thaletas continued, as though he hadn't just sent her heart _pounding_. “That one day… I can go home. _We_ can go home, Kassandra. Sparta is right there, just past the crests of the waves. I can almost hear her singing us home.” 

“ _Thaletas_ …” 

“ _Kassandra_ ,” he said softly. “Listen to me. I could never tell you in words how grateful I am for the day you sailed here. But, perhaps…” 

She heard him swallow. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. 

“Perhaps I could… help you forget your worries for a while, too.” 

Kassandra blushed scarlet, momentarily speechless. She didn’t like feeling nervous, didn’t like feeling like a fumbling teenager instead of the grown woman she was. But the things Thaletas had just told her… no one in the _world_ had ever… not even… 

He seemed to notice her inner struggle. 

“ _Kassandra_ ,” Thaletas said, his voice as low as she’d ever heard it. _Gods, did he really have to say her name like that?_

“ _Yes?_ she whispered. 

“Look at me, goddess.” 

Summoning her courage, Kassandra turned to look at him. And instantly all her thoughts vanished. 

Thaletas was reclining beautifully, his back against a column of white marble, his tanned skin looking almost supernaturally gorgeous in the golden light. He too had stripped down… enough that Kassandra could tell he spent plenty of time in the sun wearing very little. And though his eyelids were heavy, they could not hide the heat that smoldered in his gorgeous brown eyes. He rubbed his chin as he looked her over from top… to bottom… to top again, not bothering to hide it. 

His boldness… it excited her. Despite herself, she began to wonder what it would be like to press her lips against that rough black stubble… to run her hands all over the firm lines of his torso… to kiss his full, pouty lips… 

“I know what you want, _misthios_ ,” Thaletas said, eyeing her steadily. “And I can give it to you.” 

Kassandra’s pulse began to quicken. 

“I want to, Thaletas. I just…” She trailed off, her own voice sounding uncertain in her ears. 

“Why not, _Kassandra?_ ” he purred. 

_Gods_ , the way he said her name, that thick Spartan accent so familiar… 

She raised her eyes to him, searching. 

“M-my heart belongs to another,” she said. 

“So does mine,” Thaletas said, not breaking eye contact. “But here we are.” 

“Yes,” she heard herself saying. “Here we are.” 

Thaletas leaned towards her, planting one of his hands in the sand, looking every bit like a stalking lion. 

“Don’t try to tell me you haven’t felt it, _misthios_ ,” he said, advancing. “Your eyes have been crawling all over me since you arrived here.” 

She laughed, but it was an embarrassed, clipped sound. 

_No use denying it, then._

He took another crawling step towards her. Kassandra luxuriated in the way it showed off the strong muscles of his back, his chest, his arms… 

She wet her lips, knowing he was watching. She had never had a man do this for her. Never had a man invite her to look at _his_ body… and it was turning her on. 

“ _Misthios…_ ” he purred. “Did you know I’ve spent all this time imagining what I want to do to you and that perfect body of yours? I’d love to show you.” 

Kassandra felt herself flush, speechless… and uncharacteristically shy. She said nothing as Thaletas moved into her space, those deep brown eyes almost hypnotic as they flicked back and forth between hers. He captured the side of her face in his calloused hand, the strong hand of a soldier… 

“You deny yourself so much for the sake of others,” he said, stroking her bottom lip with his thumb. “But can you let yourself have this?” 

“ _Thaletas_ …” she exhaled, loving the way his name felt on her tongue. 

He seemed to like _that_ just fine. Putting his hands onto her body, he bore her down onto the cool, dry Mykonos sand. She stared up at him dreamily. 

“M-my heart belongs…” she said again, but she trailed off into a moan as Thaletas planted a slow, hungry kiss on her cheek. 

“ _Does he know?_ ” he asked in a husky voice. 

“No, no…” she exhaled automatically. Whether he meant “ _Does he know about us?_ ” or “ _Does he know you love him?_ ” her answers were one and the same. 

Thaletas’s dark eyes appraised her, and Kassandra’s heart quickened at the raw _hunger she saw there_. 

“Then there’s no problem, is there?” he said, stroking her hair, his eyes searching hers. 

Kassandra gazed up at him, brows knitted in desire… and shook her head. An instant later, she eagerly welcomed the soft press of his lips against hers. 

And _ohh_ , he felt good. 

Yes, somehow… Thaletas of Sparta felt even better than he _looked_. 

Kassandra’s whole world dissolved into the press of his stubbled lips, the heat of his body, his strong hands as they tilted her face up to him. She could smell his body, his sweat, his heady masculine odor, still ripe from battle… but it only made her want him _more_. 

Thaletas seemed to have the same idea. 

Kassandra moaned as he eased himself on top of her, her strong arms embracing him, surrendering to the press of his lips. 

“ _Is he at least a Spartan?_ ” he murmured as he kissed her. 

Under normal circumstances, Kassandra might have angered at such a question. But now, thinking of those warm brown eyes half an ocean away, she just nodded. 

She felt Thaletas’s lips curl into a smirk. 

“So you think about him, _misthios_ ,” he said, drawing back. “And I’ll think about _her_.” 

Kassandra’s eyes swept his face— his dark eyes nearly black with want, his gorgeous features drawn into a mask of desire. She chewed her lip, her honey-brown eyes smoldering. 

“Tonight… I’d rather think about you, Thaletas.” 

He couldn’t keep the naughty smile from his lips, looking perhaps a little proud. His eyes sparked as he raised her hand, kissing the back of it suggestively with his lips and tongue. 

“I’m happy to hear it, _Kassandra_ ,” he purred, easing himself back down onto her. “You will not regret it.” 

And then, he caught her lips in another kiss, long and soulful, and she threaded her fingers into his dark hair and moaned, and _moaned_ … 

“ _I must confess_ ,” Thaletas whispered against her lips. “ _I’ve been dying for a Spartan girl since my *malakas* ship crashed here_.” 

“ _I… I’m not really a…_ ” But her voice was lost in a whine as Thaletas began to palm her breast. A low chuckle escaped his throat at the way she immediately began to writhe for him. As soon as she felt him tugging at the edge of her breast band, sliding it off her, she knew it was all over. 

_Gods, please… Thaletas… please… just take me right now…_

*** 

Some time later, as Kassandra’s _desperate_ moans were filling the night air, Thaletas _growled_ in triumph. 

“ _You amaze me, Kassandra_ ,” he gritted out, panting for breath but not slowing down. “ _You fuck like a real Spartan. So much *passion.*_ ” 

“ _Thaletas!!_ ” she groaned, loving every _moment_ of his assault on her body, almost warlike in its intensity. “ _I… I love Spartan men. You fuck like you fight_.” 

Thaletas spanked her. 

“ _Oh yeah?_ ” he snarled. “ _How’s that, *misthios?*_ ” 

“ _With— Mmm!!!!!_ ” she moaned in ecstasy. “ _W-with everything you have. With so much… so much *stamina,* by the gods…_ ” 

“ _Ohhhh, Kassandra!_ ” he growled, wiping his forehead, changing his grip. “ _I promise… on my honor as a Spartan… you haven’t felt *anything* yet_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> ***  
> A little shorter and less explicit than my usual fare, but hopefully you enjoyed it. ;)
> 
> Serious question: should I expand this universe? Would anyone read it? I just have these 3 chapters planned for now, but if anyone feels strongly about it please feel free to let me know :)


	2. Stentor

Kassandra arrived at the military encampment, Stentor’s cryptic note folded in her hand. The guards seemed surprised to see her— this was _Stentor’s_ camp, after all— but they waved her through after seeing her brother’s Polemarch seal. 

With a look of determination, she followed the dirt path leading up to the officer’s tent. Stentor, as a general, may have had the power to compel her here. But she didn’t have to like it. 

Kasdandra’s recent victories— in Boetia and elsewhere— had pressured the Spartan kings to make her an official part of the military. It was partly to legitimize her (sometimes questionable) actions, and partly to give themselves credit for her mounting successes. Kassandra didn’t care. Anything that gave her more tools to hunt the Cult was worth the bargain… or so she’d thought.

 _You will be part spy, part assassin_ , the kings had told her. _But no rank_. She had accepted the terms without giving the latter much thought, but now she was paying the price. 

Silence greeted her as she passed the rows of red tents and staring hoplites, men either smart enough or too frightened of her to jeer. It was just as well. The thought of facing Stentor was rapidly putting her in the mood to smash heads.

Kassandra stopped outside the door of the lavish red officer’s tent, steeling herself. Stentor was seated at his war table, talking quietly with an advisor, but hadn’t noticed her yet.

“You sent for me, little brother?” she called out, louder than necessary.

Stentor looked up from his scrolls, the look of dawning horror on his face so strong that his advisor abruptly stopped talking. Kassandra waved the note in the air, hoping to jog her brother’s memory, but if anything that just seemed to make it worse. Sitting back, Stentor sighed, rubbing his face with both hands.

“You have a _gift_ for timing,” he said morosely.

Kassandra stared at him.

“But you sent for _me_.”

“I sent for you _months ago!!_ ” he shouted.

Kassandra smirked, despite herself.

_Yes, Stentor could compel her here. But she would do it on her own timeline._

“The Aegean is a big place, little brother,” she said, gesturing broadly. “You know how it is. Wars to fight, Olympics to win…”

“ _Malaka!_ ” he said, gritting his teeth and turning away. Kassandra fought to keep the amusement from showing on her face. This was bad, even for Stentor.

“Come now, Stentor. Is that any way to talk to fam— _oh!_ ”

Kassandra startled when she suddenly saw who else was in the tent with Stentor. Standing next to her brother’s advisor, with his back to the door, was Brasidas. He turned his head to look at her, a bemused smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“ _Brasidas!_ ” Kassandra exclaimed.

“Hello, Kassandra,” he said with a spark in his eye. “You’re looking well.”

Kassandra grinned unabashedly. Her eyes darted down to his golden armor, newly polished like the sun.

“And you look more like Helios every time we meet, Brasidas.”

“Oh, you are being _far_ too charitable to an old man.”

She snorted, and they shared a fond look.

When the moment wore on, Stentor groaned, sounding more like a moping teenager than a Spartan General. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if closing his eyes to shut them all out.

“Gentlemen, would you please excuse us?” he said. “Family business.”

Brasidas and the advisor both nodded, Brasidas winking as he stepped past Kassandra and out of the tent. Kassandra stared after him.

When they were alone, Stentor cleared his throat impatiently. Kassandra wheeled back around to look at him.

“So, you…” Kassandra said, having obvious difficulty remembering why they were here.

Stentor rolled his eyes.

Kassandra folded her arms and tried again.

“You… said you had something to tell me?” 

“I would just as soon not tell you,” Stentor said, rising stiffly from his chair. “But a Spartan never backs down from what he fears.”

“Well, good,” she said, unfolding the note. “Because I couldn’t make any sense of this.”

She didn’t miss the flash of fear in Stentor’s eyes as she lifted the note up and began to read aloud.

“ _Kassandra—_

_Come and see me. I have something to tell you that might be of great interest to you. Meet soon._

_—S_ ”

Kassandra glanced up at him over the note.

“And then there was _this_ …”

She unfolded the third panel of the letter to reveal a single pressed flower. One of those red flowers that grew in the mountains, by the looks of it. The kind she had once gathered for a dying old man to place on his wife’s grave… 

_Yet another contract no other misthios would ever have taken…_ said a kind voice in her mind. One that sounded suspiciously like Thaletas…

Pushing down the pang she felt, she picked up the dried flower by its edge, dangling it unceremoniously.

“Was this meant to be a code, or…?”

Kassandra watched in confusion as Stentor stormed right past her without so much as a glance, unfastening the tent flaps and letting them fall closed. They were immediately swathed in darkness, illuminated only by the dim rays of Spartan-red daylight filtering in through the tent.

When Stentor made no move to talk, Kassandra’s brow furrowed. 

“So what is this about?” she asked. “Do you have a mission for me, or…?”

Stentor looked away, his face so stricken that all amusement faded from Kassandra’s lips.

“Kassandra, I…” he started to say.

But his voice trailed off. His eyes were creased with pain, though for what reason, she couldn’t begin to guess. For the first time since she’d met him, Stentor seemed to be at a loss for words.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice suddenly serious. “Is _pater_ alright?”

Unlike some Spartan men, Stentor was clean-shaven, and Kassandra could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“Nikolaus is fine,” he told her. “You are here to see me.”

Kassandra blinked at him in surprise.

“You… _wanted_ to see me?”

“When I sent you that letter, I was…” he stopped, choosing his words carefully. “I had just realized something… _important_.”

“It must be something big,” Kassandra said. “You’d never talk to me this long voluntarily.”

She could have sworn she saw him wince, but he held his head high. He turned back to look at her, his dark eyes searching.

“I… realized how amazing you are, Kassandra,” he said quietly.

She stared at him, not comprehending.

“Is this a joke?”

“No, I'm afraid not,” he said. “In Boetia, you _singlehandedly_ defeated four ruthless champions who had been sabotaging our efforts for months. You turned the tide off the war, Kassandra. You turned a lost cause into an almost certain victory.”

“I know. I was there,” she said impatiently. “Risking my life for your little errand.”

Stentor grimaced, but kept going.

“I had no right to expect further help from you. Yet even after completing your mission, you fought at my side in the battle for conquest.” He swallowed, getting emotional. 

“ _Kassandra_ ,” he said, quieter. “I watched you take down brutes that my best lieutenants wouldn’t even go near. And you did it with such _beauty_ , and grace…”

Kassandra’s eyebrow peaked, and perhaps Stentor viewed this as _skepticism_. He drew closer, opening his hands imploringly.

“I had heard rumors, but until I saw it with my own eyes, Kassandra, I couldn’t believe how… how _beautifully_ you fought. You moved like a tempest— like one of the three furies, but… but _stunning_ instead of hideous. Watching you made me proud to be a Spartan.”

Kassandra stared in mystified silence. Stentor had never spoken to her for this long without yelling, and yet here he was singing her virtues like she was a goddess in the flesh. It made no sense. 

Unaccustomed to being so confused, she got impatient.

“Why am I here, Stentor?” she asked quietly.

Stentor briskly rubbed his face, as if preparing himself for something. He drew a deep breath, taking another step towards her that made her eyes widen. When he spoke again, his voice was even softer.

“I had hoped we might… go on a journey together,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “But what I wanted… the place where I wanted us to go… there were no roads. I had hoped we might… forge a path. _Together_.”

Kassandra brought her fingers to her temples, massaging softly.

“This is even more confusing than your letter.”

At the mention of the letter, Stentor’s eyes flicked down to the mountain flower. He gently picked it up by its dried stem.

“When I sent that letter, I had fooled myself into thinking that you… might…”

He idly twirled the flower between his fingers.

“That… _we_ … might…”

Kassandra’s brow furrowed.

“What are you trying to say, little brother?” she asked quietly. Seeing the confusion in her eyes, Stentor looked away, his eyes pained.

“I do not love you as a brother should,” he said bitterly.

Despite herself, Kassandra _laughed_.

“You think?” she said, wincing and rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I think my nose is still crooked.” 

Stentor looked wounded, but he quickly covered it with a scowl and turned away. He planted his hands heavily on the table, leaning over as if studying his map.

“Ah, Stentor, I was only joking!” said Kassandra breezily. “Water under the bridge, my friend.”

But when he didn’t move, she sighed. Raising her hands in a placating gesture, she walked around the table.

“Stentor, little brother—”

“ _Kassandra_ …” he said, his head still bowed. “How do you _still_ not understand what I am trying to tell you?”

She folded her arms.

“You might have to tell me slower, _General_ ,” she said with an arch of her eyebrow. 

Stentor glanced up at her, the intensity of his gaze surprising her. By the look in his eyes, she could almost swear that he… _liked_ being called that.

“Really, Kassandra?” he asked, eyeing her. “You really don’t know?”

“No,” she said, starting to get irritated. “But as you’re fond of reminding me, _I_ am just a lowly _misthios_ , and _you_ are a mighty Polemarch of Spar—”

But she abruptly stopped when she saw the look he was giving her. Though his head was still bowed, his deep brown eyes were locked onto hers, fierce with some unstated emotion. 

As he stared at her, his nostrils flared, his lips compressing into a thin line. 

_Damn you, Kassandra, for making me say it…_

Slowly, he stood up to his full height, tall enough to look down at Kassandra as he slowly stepped into her space, dragging his fingertips over the table. She stared up at him in confusion, her eyes searching his. She even glanced down to make sure nothing was in his hand— _was he going to try to hit her again?_

But no. It was just the flower. Stentor lifted it between them, stopping so close to her that she could plainly see the rich color of his eyes— golden brown, like wild honey. _How had she never noticed how brown his eyes were?_

“In Boetia, to think that I could’ve sent you to your death,” he whispered, his voice as soft as she had ever heard it. “It remains my greatest regret.”

“So what is this, your guilty conscience?” Kassandra asked, trying to make sense of his behavior. “Suddenly felt like apologizing for that, so you thought you’d call me all the way here? I was in _Makedonia_ , Stentor!!”

Stentor said nothing. She raised her eyebrows questioningly, but when she still didn’t get an answer, she felt the need to keep talking. Anything but his unbearable silence, his intense, searching stares.

“Don’t feel bad, little brother,” she sarcastically, gesturing in irritation. “If I had died on your mission, it would’ve been _my_ fault for getting sloppy. Clearly you were only doing what was best for _Sparta_ , sending me alone into a nest of snakes.”

“ _Kassandra_ …” Stentor sighed, guiltily rubbing his face with one hand.

“I still don’t know what this is about!!” she exclaimed. “If you _have_ brought me here to apologize, you’re certainly taking your time about it!”

“ _Kassandra!!_ ” he groaned with such torment that she immediately fell silent. He took another step towards her, his face only inches from hers.

“I was a fool for not seeing all you had done for Sparta,” he said, his voice quiet and intense. “A _fool_ for not seeing what was right in front of my eyes.”

Kassandra said nothing, the slight crease in her brow the only sign of her comprehension.

Stentor reached up, playing with the end of her braid. 

“But even a fool like me can see that your heart belongs to Brasidas.”

They locked eyes for a moment, and Kassandra saw a spark there that made her jaw fall open. She staggered back, her eyes going as big as dinner plates.

“Wait, hold on, _WHAT??_ ” she cried.

Stentor threw his arms up impatiently.

“Half of Sparta knows it! How are you part of the half who doesn’t?”

Kassandra was so dumbstruck she just stood there, stiff as if a gorgon had turned her to stone.

Stentor ran a hand over his face.

“Now do you understand?” he asked.

Kassandra’s eyes creased in dawning comprehension.

“Does that mean…?” she said, eyes darting back and forth. “You mean, you…”

Stentor twisted the flower once between his fingers, and then, slowly, placed it over his heart.

“ _Kassandra_ …” he said, his voice lower than before. He gave her a soft look, his brown eyes searching hers. “I love you.”

Kassandra smacked herself so hard in the forehead so hard that she nearly knocked herself over.

“ _Malaka!_ ” she exclaimed. “ _Stentor!!_ ” 

Stentor sighed, but didn’t take his eyes off her.

Kassandra started pacing around the tent, unable to cope with this new information.

“Why would you _ever_ think—?” she asked, exasperated.

He lowered his eyes, his brow creasing.

“It’s true that I didn’t know if you’d be interested, after…”

“After _what_ , after you _punched_ me??” she said with a mirthless laugh.

“After… _everything_ that happened between us, yes,” he said regretfully. “However… when I heard about you and Thaletas…”

Kassandra wheeled around, staring at him, agog. 

“ _What??!!_ ” she exclaimed. 

He held up his hands, bidding her to wait.

“We were drinking, to celebrate his victorious return from Mykonos,” Stentor said. “A victory you seemed to have had quite a hand in.”

Kassandra gestured impatiently, her eyes telling him to get on with it.

“Well… after quite a few, he mentioned that you… like Spartan men. I’ll confess, I was a bit surprised to hear it.”

Kassandra searched his face.

“But he didn’t… tell you what happened?”

At this, Stentor’s lips drew into a smile, surely the first he had ever given her.

“I can guess.”

Kassandra facepalmed.

“ _Malaka!!_ ”

Stentor huffed out a laugh, though his tone quickly drew serious.

“I had already been awed with you for some time,” he confessed. “Your beauty. Your accomplishments. Your loyalty to our homeland.”

Kassandra had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“But when I heard _that_ … that you like Spartiates, I…” He paused, and she saw him swallow again. “I thought maybe we could make amends. That even though we had gotten off on the wrong foot… that somehow, you’d see that I had changed.”

“And then, what, you and I would go hold hands and walk on the beach??” Kassandra exclaimed. “Come _on_ , Stentor! This is ridiculous!”

“I agree,” he said. “But I sent my letter before I knew about you and Brasidas.”

Kassandra shook her head.

“Stentor, _nothing_ is happening between—”

“He likes you too, you know.”

Kassandra just froze, her face a mask of shock.

“Brasidas is a good man, and an old friend,” Stentor continued, his eyes locked onto hers. “But, Kassandra, know this. My devotion to you is absolute. You’ve done more for Sparta than almost any mortal could hope to, and I will never forget it.”

Kassandra’s eyes went wide as he placed both hands on her shoulders, caressing her softly.

“And my door… is always open to you.”

Kassandra was speechless. Gobsmacked. The only thing she could think of that allowed her to break her silence was to state the obvious.

“But you’re my _brother!!_ ” she exclaimed.

“ _Step_ -brother,” he said forcefully. “Nikolaus adopted me. We are not related, Kassandra.”

He sighed suddenly, releasing her and running a hand roughly through his dark hair.

“Not that that makes it right.”

Kassandra could see the conflicted desire in his eyes— could see it, but not believe it. Of course she knew they weren’t related. But she had never expected _this_ … 

_Had she?_

_Certainly, she had thought him handsome at first, in a stern way… but that was before she knew who he was…_

“ _Kassandra_ ,” he said softly, pronouncing her name with that Spartan accent that made her weak. “Now that I have told you what I meant to, please... go. I will not trouble you further with my own— _ridiculous_ — feelings.”

Kassandra was still flabbergasted, still reeling from this revelation… but she gave him a dazed nod. With a tentative hand, she patted Stentor on the back, giving him a look somewhere between sympathy and chagrin. 

“ _Chaire_ , Stentor,” she said.

Stentor watched her go, watched her lift the tent flap, pausing momentarily in the open doorway.

“Say hi to _pater_ for me,” she said without turning around. Then she was gone. 

Stentor’s body _crawled_ with shame.

Perhaps, deep down, he always knew this was what would happen. And perhaps, at the current moment, he couldn’t resist punishing himself further.

Slowly, he walked forward and lifted the tent flap, staring after her.

He watched as Kassandra hastened away, watched her walk all the way to the edge of the camp where Brasidas stood, clearly awaiting her. 

Brasidas greeted her with a broad smile that went all the way to his eyes, a smile Kassandra returned with effortless grace. They clasped arms, then abruptly released them, a nervous energy strung between them like a rope.

Though watching them together was like poison for his heart, Stentor couldn’t look away. He didn’t even turn his head when he heard his advisor approaching.

“I heard shouting, General,” the man said with a deep bow. “Is everything alright?”

 _No_ , he wanted to say, watching Kassandra with Brasidas, watching her look so happy it was like staring into the *sun.* _No, it’s not alright_.

“Everything is fine, Teleklos,” he said evenly. “Just a misunderstanding.”

Stentor watched as Brasidas and Kassandra shared a laugh. After another fond look between them, Brasidas placed his hand on the small of Kassandra’s back, and he led her away towards something outside the camp. Though he was pointing at something in the distance, his eyes were entirely on her. Stentor watched them until they were out of sight.

At last, he turned away, brooding in the red darkness of his tent. The advisor cleared his throat, perhaps wondering if they would continue their interrupted meeting.

“Your sister has… quite a reputation,” he said, careful to keep his tone neutral.

Stentor sighed, lowering his head. 

“I know,” he said. “The gods must have cursed me.”

 _To bring me so close to you, for you to fall in love with men so much like me…_

Stentor couldn’t help lowering his eyes to the table, where he had once dreamt of making love to her every way he could think of.

“The gods must have cursed me, making us family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, definitely my guiltiest Assassin's Creed ship, but he's just so _brooding_. Stentor is the Mr. Darcy of ancient Lakonia, I will die on this hill


	3. Brasidas

To another partygoer, it might have looked like Brasidas of Sparta had taken a sudden and consuming interest in the grain fields of their host. Standing against the bannister of the sumptuous marble balcony, hands clasped behind him, he looked the very picture of a Spartiate military officer. Only those who knew him well would have noticed the way his hands trembled, the way he clenched his jaw as he tried to steel himself for the night ahead.

But though he had come outside to get away from the crowd, he wasn’t surprised to hear a certain _misthios_ creeping up behind him. Nor, for that matter, did he mind.

“Strange place to meet a _misthios_ ,” he said. 

“Strange place to meet a General,” said a familiar voice from behind him. “Does that mean _Brasidas of Sparta_ finds these things as unbearable as I do?” Brasidas couldn’t keep the smile from his face. 

“Hello, Kassandra,” he said, turning to face her. She was dressed elegantly tonight, in a purple floor-length _chiton_ he had to force himself not to stare at. But he was half-convinced she knew it, from the smug look on her face. She folded her arms, canting her hips impatiently. 

“You didn’t answer my question, _General_ ,” she said with a smirk, as though calling him by his title was funny to her. While it wasn’t funny to him, it was certainly effective in… _other_ ways.

He cleared his throat, looking up at the stars as if there were suddenly something very interesting happening there. Kassandra seemed to take this as an admission of guilt.

“Admit it,” she said, stepping close enough that he was forced to look down at her. 

The playful spark in her honey-golden eyes _stirred_ something in him, though he tried his best not to show it.

“What am I admitting, _Kassandra?_ ”

“That you hate Spartiate parties just as much as I do,” she said, prodding him gently in the chest. His eyes flicked down to where she was touching him and back.

“Of course I, as a general, have no opinions about the social events of our leadership,” he said, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“A _shame_ ,” Kassandra lamented, rolling her eyes. “I will have no one to complain to tonight when the speeches start.”

“Well,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “You could complain to me, but I’m afraid anything you say would become national intelligence.”

Kassandra laughed, and Brasidas quietly reveled in the sound of it, every bit as loud and free as she was.

“Ah, yes. Who could forget the _very normal_ fact that you are both a general _*and*_ a spymaster. Tell me, is it hard to be a spy while wearing golden armor?”

“Is it hard to be a _misthios_ when your eagle announces your murderous intent from 10 leagues away?”

Kassandra clapped her hands and laughed again, her eyes squeezing shut. This time, Brasidas couldn’t help sweeping her body from head to toe.

_By the gods, Aphrodite would be jealous…_

Suddenly, as if summoned, Ikaros descended from the sky and perched on the bannister, loudly screeching his arrival. Kassandra, already laughing, nearly doubled over.

From elsewhere in the sprawling _oikos_ , a hushing of voices indicated the evening’s speeches were about to begin. As had been his habit lately, Brasidas lightly placed a hand on Kassandra’s lower back. He gently steered her back towards the party, and she let him, still laughing to herself.

They descended the stairs to a large courtyard in the center of the estate. At the far end, a winded-looking ephor of about 70 was taking the podium. Finding a place near the back of the crowd, Brasidas tried to settle into what promised to be a long and trying night of speeches. 

But a few moments later, Kassandra nudged him with her shoulder, breaking him out of his reverie. 

“At least Ikaros knows how to blend into his environment,” she whispered. “You stand out like a gleaming idol.” Though he kept his eyes pinned forward, he suspected his fondness would be visible to anyone watching, even from the side.

“I’ll remember you said that, Kassandra.” 

To her credit, Kassandra did her best to act interested in the speakers, at least at first. Despite their age, these men knew how to rile up a crowd— or at least, how to rile up _this_ crowd. 

‘ _We must do all for the glory of Sparta… sacrifices must be made… your sons will come home victorious, or die in glorious battle…_ ’

But after about her fourth scoff, Kassandra excused herself, saying that if this is how it was going to be, she needed more wine. He supposed he couldn’t blame her for that. Not after what Sparta had allowed to happen to her family.

But while the rest of Sparta’s elite listened with rapt attention, Brasidas watched Kassandra’s bare shoulders as she disappeared into the crowd, her spear still strapped to her back. The sight tugged another smile from his lips. This was a Kassandra-sized compromise, no doubt, with the formal dress code.

_Kassandra…_

Ever since she had appeared, dream-like, in that burning warehouse in Korinthia, he hadn’t been able to get her off his mind. It was almost maddening— she was only a _misthios_ , and he had dealt with plenty of those in his time as the eyes and ears (and daggers) of Sparta’s rulers. But she was something else, something extraordinary— a ghost of Sparta’s haunted past. A granddaughter of Leonidas, reduced to being a hired killer… and yet…

Yet she had swaggered straight into a meeting with the dual kings without flinching, demanding her house and citizenship back. Brasidas had never seen anyone so fearless in that chamber, and he had stood in the wings of such meetings for _years_. Unlike everyone else entering that chamber, Kassandra didn’t humble herself before the kings, because unlike everyone else, she wasn’t making a plea. She was issuing a _demand_. If he had been curious about her before, in more ways than one, well… that may have been the moment when that curiosity turned into something else.

It hadn’t looked good for Kassandra and Myrrine. There were already detractors starting to speak out against them in the chamber, saying their long absence from Sparta was a sign of their disloyalty. But Brasidas had stepped forward to defend them, surprising everyone— including himself.

Generals were not usually among those taking up risky political positions, but it had paid off. Myrrine and Kassandra were offered the opportunity to reclaim what they had lost. But to him, a far greater prize was the way Kassandra now looked at him. 

At first, he had wondered if it was his imagination. But with time, he had noticed something. Although Kassandra had a swagger that most mortal men would tremble at, she was… _gentler_ , with him. He loved the way she breathed his name, a kind of quiet affection to it. 

_Brasidas…_

And there was, he was convinced, a shy smile she showed only to him. 

_But was that all it was? Just a smile?_

He shifted on his feet, uncomfortable.

_Was it just lingering gratitude for the kindness he had shown her?_

_Or was there something more, veiled under those dark eyelashes as she looked up at him? Something more, simmering in those laughing, honey-golden eyes?_

Brasidas was so transfixed by the thought that he nearly missed the sound of his own name being called.

_“General Brasidas?”_

He turned to see the bowed head of a messenger, a stout Helot who had somehow slipped through the crowd to his side, unnoticed. Brasidas was not used to being caught so unaware, and it flustered him.

“Well?” he said.

The man bowed deeply.

“Your speech is awaited after the next one, General.”

Brasidas sighed to himself, then nodded. 

All his flights of fancy about Kassandra would do him no good right now. He clasped his hands behind his back, trying to will them to stop shaking. Then, steadying himself, he strode purposefully towards the podium.

The news he had to share was not good.

***

A hush fell over the crowd as Brasidas ascended to the podium, a grim and stately air about him. 

His stern gaze swept over the crowd, a tapestry of Sparta’s ruling families and politicians. Brasidas knew these people. He was, after all, the spymaster to the joint kings of Sparta. And these faces, while varied in appearance, were all of a kind. 

They were wealthy landowners and elder statesmen, usually one and the same. They were elderly ephors and their many servants. They were tax-evading merchants of all ages, and their wives, of largely one age. 

The only group conspicuously missing were the fighting-age men, but that was to be expected. Save for the guards, and a few officers like himself, they were all deployed in some foreign land— if not already buried there.

But Brasidas saw the widows and scions of these prominent families, including the teenage sons of the two kings, who just last year he had caught _in flagrante_ , fooling around in some poor farmer’s wheat crop. At least he could confidently tell the kings they weren’t meeting with the enemy.

And somewhere out there, standing in that sea of useless faces, was Kassandra.

_Kassandra, with her wild laugh, her kind heart, her unerring sense of right and wrong._

_Kassandra, who was everything Sparta wasn’t._

Brasidas held his head high, trying to push any thought of her from his mind.

_Now was not the time to think about it._

_He had a war to start._

***

Brasidas did not flinch as he laid out the grim details of their situation, staring into the wide eyes of Sparta’s undeserving elite.

With a solemn voice, he told them the fragile truce with Athens, negotiated by King Archidamos himself, had been hollowed out by Perikles’s treachery. Athens was making aggressive incursions into their borders by both sea and land, an impermissible insult to Spartan sovereignty and honor. Their only recourse… was _war_.

So they would go to _war_ , Brasidas told them, with all the pomp and fire of a man who had dedicated his life to Sparta. 

Like all Spartiate boys, he had been trained in the art of combat from age seven, but Brasidas was different. Victories had piled up at his feet like tossed bouquets (or mounds of skulls, depending on who you asked). As a result of his gifts, he had been made a full general at the unheard of age of 28. Since then, he had served his country with an unerring hand, his very name striking fear in all corners of the Greek world. When Brasidas of Sparta spoke, people listened.

And right now, they listened in utter silence. 

The treaty was broken, Brasidas said, no more valuable than the parchment it was written on. The fragile peace, which had held for nearly a generation, was forfeit. And now, Sparta had to send her best sons to fight a glorious new war for her. 

The crowd murmured, understanding immediately.

There was no other way forward, he told them. Not when Spartan honor was on the line. Not when Athens gleefully raided her border states, looting grain and freeing Helots. And all of this treachery, he told them, was being done with Perikles's usual zeal, backed by his unruly, warmongering Senate.

What Brasidas did not tell them was how Sparta had spent years undermining the treaty, arming the disgruntled vassal states of Athens and making bold alliances with her enemies. Brasidas had warned the kings and ephors against this foolish path at every turn, but he had been sidelined by the more… _aggressive_ voices in the government. Voices that stood to gain from such mayhem. Voices, Kassandra had tried to convince him, which were coming from _the Cult…_

_Kassandra, in that purple dress…_

Regardless of who started it, this war belonged to Archidamos and Pausanias as much as it did to Perikles. The men of Athens may have spoken of rigorous debate and democracy as their highest ideals, and the men of Sparta _obedience_ , but their wars… their wars were all the same.

_Except…_

_Except this time, it was different._

_This time, Athens had Deimos._

_But Sparta had Kassandra._

Brasidas paused. He thought of Kassandra, thought of what blind obedience to the nation had done to her family… or what was left of it. He thought of her many enemies and detractors, still doing all they could to ensure she could never ascend to the position where Sparta needed her most. Where _he_ needed her, which was at his side, planning their next moves in what would likely be a long and terrible war. The attempts to undercut her would never cease… but he realized that in this moment, he could staunch them.

“Being Spartan is a matter of blood,” Brasidas suddenly announced to the crowd. “Not circumstance, not location, not fortune. _Blood_.”

He leveled a steely glare at the crowd.

“Myrrine, daughter of Leonidas, once an exile, served honorably as the archon of Naxos— triumphant in battle even with none of Sparta’s allies. We are lucky to have her back.”

The crowd murmured in uncertainty. He forged ahead before he could lose them.

“Kassandra, granddaughter of Leonidas—”

_Kassandra, smiling at him in that purple dress._

_Kassandra, slipping out of that purple dress._

Brasidas raised his voice.

“Kassandra has been an indispensable asset in our long struggle against Athens. She helped us secure Korinthia and Boetia as key allies in this war. And as a result of that labor, she and her mother are once again full Spartan citizens, with all the privileges that entails. I will hear no more debate on the matter. Any who speak otherwise will answer to _me_.”

The stillness of the crowd told him they understood, but he hammered his fist on the podium anyway. 

“Once a Spartan, _always_ a Spartan,” he said forcefully. 

And it was then, in that ringing silence, that he finally saw her.

Kassandra was standing under a vine-laden pergola at the edge of the crowd, arms folded, her face in shadow. 

_Of course she chose the darkest corner_ , Brasidas thought to himself. _Staying out of sight is her stock and trade. Still…_

He had no idea what she thought of his impromptu speech, but that didn’t seem to matter to a certain part of his mind. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining himself joining her in that darkened corner, his fingertips reaching out to brush hers in the darkness— _would she reciprocate?_

_Could they steal another moment of their own at this torturous party, full of people who made Brasidas wish he’d never been made a general?_

Unfortunately, once his imagination started down that road, there was no stopping it.

_Kassandra, embracing him eagerly. Kassandra, allowing him to back her against that wall of vines…_

_Kassandra, pressing her soft lips to his, looping her thumbs through his belt, tugging down…_

_Kassandra, kneeling…_

Brasidas realized the crowd was staring at him, waiting for him to continue. 

“ _With the blood of Leonidas on our side, we will he victorious!!_ ” he shouted. The crowd began to applaud.

_Kassandra, eagerly lowering herself to her knees for him, Kassandra, smoothing her hands over his thighs… ___

A bead of sweat slid down his temple. 

“ _As we have triumphed over Messenia, so we will triumph over Athens!!!_ ” he shouted, raising his fist. 

The crowd erupted in cheers. 

_Kassandra’s warm, silky lips closing over his cock…_

“Honor and glory to Sparta,” Brasidas said, slamming his hand on the podium again. Then, abruptly, he stepped down. 

There was a moment of surprised silence, followed by feverish applause and cheering. 

This should have been the biggest moment in his career. Instead, all he could think about… was _her_. All he wanted to do was jump down off the dais and run straight to her side… 

But as soon as he set foot on the ground, Brasidas was immediately flanked by clamoring ministers, desperate to know more. 

By the time he managed to extricate himself, she was gone. 

*** 

Brasidas thought she’d gone home. He wouldn’t have blamed her. Kassandra had more than enough reason to hate displays of blind obedience to Sparta. _If loyalty to one’s country could cause a respectable man to throw his own daughter off a mountain, what couldn’t it do?_

But at the end of the night, he unexpectedly followed her voice to a back garden. There, he found her in the center of a group of prominent women, all of them stinking drunk, howling with laughter as Kassandra told them what must have been a story from one of her misadventures… 

The sight was too fascinating— Kassandra gesticulating wildly, the women doubling over with laughter, leaning on one another for support— that the last thing he wanted to do was interrupt. But Kassandra’s instincts were too good, even when drunk, and she spotted him immediately. 

“ _BRASIDAS!_ ” she shouted, with more volume than discretion would strictly call for. Everyone turned and stared, but Brasidas was only looking at _her_. 

_That genuine delight on her face when she saw him… he wasn’t imagining that, was he?_

Abandoning her story mid-sentence, Kassandra hurried to his side. 

Not wanting to attract any undue attention, Brasidas bowed his head politely as she staggered up to him. 

“ _Brasidas_ ,” she said with a conspiratorial grin, drunkenly placing her hand on his lower arm. “It was a beautiful speech you gave about _mater_ and I.” 

He glanced down at her hand and back. 

“I’m happy you enjoyed it.” 

She gestured with her wine glass, spilling some of the contents. 

“You are not so in love with your own voice as some of these _malakas_.” 

Brasidas raised an eyebrow, not used to _anyone_ speaking so freely. Nor, for that matter, did well-bred Spartiates approve of public displays of drunkenness. Noticing that people were starting to stare, he decided to change the subject. 

“ _Kassandra_ ,” he said in a lower voice, enjoying the immediate way it got her attention. “I wouldn’t want to offend your fighting prowess by offering to walk you home. But perhaps you would like to walk with me. Your mother’s home is not far from my own.” 

A look of surprise slowly registered on Kassandra’s face. But when she finally understood, she gave him a grin that made his pulse quicken. 

By way of answering, she drained her glass. 

*** 

They walked together, Kassandra chattering freely about her adventures, Brasidas stealing fond glances at her. It was a welcome relief to have something to think about besides the war. 

She was laughingly telling him the story of the time Barnabas had insisted they visit an island famous for its sirens, excitedly paddling ashore, only to discover a vast beach covered in lazing seals… and their droppings. 

“Barnabas couldn’t get the stink off him for _days!_ ” she exclaimed, laughing at her own telling. “So much for his mermaids!” 

Her Kephallonian accent came out more when she was drunk, Brasidas realized, with no small amount of fondness. She sounded more like a turnip seller than a _misthios_. Her strength in battle was easily worth 100 fighting men, yet here she was, laughing by his side, looking as carefree and lovely as he’d ever seen her. What he felt for her… he would have called it _love_ , but it ran deeper than that. 

Brasidas _wanted_ her— mind, body, and soul. 

He wanted her next to him at his war table and then underneath him in his bunk, all in the same night. He wanted to run into battle with her, and when that was done, he wanted to run his hands through her hair and call her _lovely_ as he made tender love to her right there on the ground. He wanted her at his side— as his advisor, his muse, his lover, his queen… 

_His partner._

_He wanted her to be his partner, in all things._

Here, Brasidas began to feel uneasy. For all his attempts to avoid it, he couldn’t stop his mind from strategizing about the war, even at moments like this. Through his gifts for warfare, he knew what Kassandra could do for them. Despite her easy laughter and freewheeling ways, he knew something most of Sparta didn’t: Kassandra could help them _win_ this war. 

_But would she be willing?_

She had helped Sparta before— in Boetia and the Olympics, for a start— but that was only to regain her citizenship. Her allegiance to Sparta was dubious at best, and Brasidas knew that. And yet… 

And yet, she and her mother had returned. 

With her talents, Kassandra could have settled them anywhere in Greece, yet here they were— Spartans once more. Despite everything the country had done to them, Kassandra had risked life and limb so they could live in their old homestead. It had to mean something. 

_Would Kassandra come to Sparta’s aid again, if he were the one to ask her?_

_And would he allow his feelings for her to… complicate things?_

A darker thought entered his mind. 

_Just who was he loyal to? Did he want Kassandra for Sparta, or for himself?_

Despite her state, Kassandra seemed to realize Brasidas was being unusually quiet. 

“ _Brasidas_ …” she said softly.

Then she looked at him, those honey-golden eyes searching his… and he immediately knew his answer. _Gods_ , the way she looked with those full lips pursed, her body so close he could reach out and touch her… 

_Kassandra, sucking him off within seven inches of his life…_

His mouth suddenly felt dry, and he held his hands behind his back to keep them from shaking.

“Are you thinking about us?” she asked with her usual bluntness. 

Brasidas cleared his throat, looking away. 

“How well you know me,” he said. 

“But I don’t, really…” she said, sounding regretful. “Earlier tonight… what you said about _mater_ and I was lovely, but…” 

He watched her brow furrow. 

“But then it was just _Sparta this, Sparta that…_ ” 

“Well… Athens would’ve been out of place, don’t you think?” he asked. But the joke didn’t land. 

“It wasn’t just you,” she said, lowering her voice. “Every other speech… every time those malakas said _Sparta…_ ” She shook her head. “I had to turn it into a drinking game.” 

Then she stumbled, and Brasidas caught her. She looked up at him with wide eyes, her face an open book of surprise and… 

_… and something else he wasn’t used to seeing in her eyes._

He held Kassandra’s shoulders tightly as he steadied her, searching her face. 

_Was it intimidation? Shyness?_

She seemed speechless… but her eyes were telling a different story. Her cheeks reddened as she looked down at where his firm hands were grabbing her. And then, she looked up at him again, a certain curiosity in her eyes. Without breaking his gaze, she wet her lips. 

Brasidas nearly _groaned_ from the jolt of pleasure that went through his loins. 

_Looking at her now… the way her eyes were eating him up… how could he ever have been in doubt?_

“ _Kassandra…_ ” he exhaled, without even meaning to. 

Kassandra’s eyes dropped to his bearded lips. 

_By the gods, the look in her eyes… the things she looked ready to do to him…_

Brasidas knew perfectly well what she wanted from him. Unlike many Spartan men, he was no stranger to women’s desires. But he also knew what wine could do to a person’s good sense. 

Perhaps she would’ve wanted a kiss from him even if she were sober. But as a man of honor… he wanted to do this the right way. With a soft sigh, he helped her steady herself on her feet. 

“Did you win?” Brasidas asked. 

“ _W-what?_ ” Kassandra asked. He couldn’t keep the soft smile from his lips as he slowly released her. 

“Your drinking game. But never mind.” 

Kassandra exhaled, running a hand through her hair. When they started walking again, she was much quieter. 

They continued their slow course through the cobbled streets of the city. Of course Brasidas knew she was drunk— she could barely walk in a straight line— but he didn’t realize just _how_ drunk until they reached the amphitheater. 

“Did the kings put you up to this?” she asked suddenly. 

“Put me up to… what?” he asked, surprised. 

“I don’t know,” she said, still sounding sad. “This. Us.” 

“They didn’t put me up to anything.” 

“But you’re loyal to them.” 

“I am a general of _Sparta_ , Kassandra,” he said, almost annoyed. “What did you expect?” 

“ _I don’t know_ ,” she said, matching his annoyance. “I don’t know what I expected. Just… Archidamos, Pausanius… those malakas have been making life hell since I came back here. I just want a home, Brasidas. And I want… I want you on my side. And I thought you were, but… oh, _by the gods_ , I’m so confused…” 

As he tried to follow the disjointed threads of her mind, she stared at him sadly. 

“Perhaps,” he said carefully. “Perhaps this is something we can discuss when you are… feeling better.” 

“I’ve had a lot. I know. But I’m not stupid. And those selfish, bastard _kings_ —” 

“You should keep your voice down, Kassandra,” Brasidas interrupted, giving her a stern look. “You never know who’s listening.” 

That was the wrong thing to say. 

She started to veer towards the amphitheater, something Brasidas didn’t quite register until she made a beeline for the stage. 

_Malaka!_

“Kassandra!” he shouted, instantly fearful at the sight of her running down a flight of stone steps. But she was fast, and he was encumbered by his armor, and she easily left him in the dust. He’d only made it halfway down the steps before she’d managed to scrabble up onto the stage. 

“ _Kassandra!_ ” he shouted again, terrified that she’d fall off. 

“There is no _Kassandra_ here!” she announced to her invisible audience. “ _Don’t you recognize me??_ ” 

Before Brasidas could begin to formulate a response to that, she adopted a pompous air, strutting to the edge of the stage. 

“It is I, King Archidamos!” 

_Uh oh_ , Brasidas thought. 

“I will give you accursed women-spawn of Leonidas your house back,” she went on, gesturing airily, “but only if you bring me… _the moon!_ ” 

Brasidas grimaced. Any guards who came across her like this were unlikely to be sympathetic. Her status as a Spartan was fragile enough as it was, and given the number (and power) of her enemies, she could easily be detained and charged with subterfuge… _or worse_. 

As Brasidas approached the stage. Kassandra started counting on her fingers. 

“Oh, and conquer the world like Alexander, defeat the Persians, and find my cane, would you? 

“ _Kassandra_ …” 

“This conversation wearies me,” she said, clapping her hands. “ _Pausanius, fetch me my slippers!_ ” 

“ _This isn’t Athens, Kassandra_ ,” Brasidas hissed. 

Kassandra swaggered, undeterred, and looked him right in the eye. 

“Why, that’s the most Spartan thing you’ve said all day!” 

Sighing, Brasidas lowered his voice. Perhaps it would get her attention this time, as well. 

“Come down from there, please. I don’t want you to fall.” 

Kassandra’s confidence wavered, but only for a second. 

“What?? _Come down?!_ Why, in all my 200 years on the throne, I’ve never heard such _non—!!_ ” 

Brasidas started to climb onto the stage, and Kassandra whooped with excitement. She turned to look for an escape route, but the sudden movement caused her to lose her balance, and she teetered toward the edge of the stage. 

“Oh, _malaka!!_ ” she exclaimed as she went over. 

Her body tensed up, bracing for impact— except there was none— just the clank of armor and the meeting of solid warmth. She opened her eyes to realize, a few seconds delayed, that Brasidas had caught her in his arms. 

He could feel the tension in his body as he struggled to hold her up, but it was worth it for the way she was now looking at him, like he was Achilles himself. Her stunned eyes dropped to his biceps and back, and Brasidas felt an unexpected surge of pride. The harsh demands of Spartan military life had their advantages, at least. 

“ _Brasidas_ …” she exhaled. 

It was only his name, and yet the way her full lips formed the shape if it… 

_Bra… si… das…_

His eyes searched every _inch_ of her face. 

It hadn’t been an easy catch. He had barely made it in time— and he had almost dropped her. Kassandra was gorgeous, but she was all muscle— and heavy, for how lithe she looked. 

But Brasidas was already enraptured by the way she felt in his arms— womanly softness overlaying hard fighting iron. They stared at each other long enough that his arms began to tremble. 

Without a word, Brasidas carefully eased her onto her feet. And Kassandra dusted herself off, even though she hadn't fallen on the ground. 

Then, Brasidas grasped his arms behind his back, leveling her with a steady gaze. He looked every bit like he was about to give _her_ a speech, but the stern look in his eyes seemed to be enough. 

Kassandra lowered her eyes in embarrassment. 

Brasidas offered her his arm— _a peace offering_ , he might have called it— and was pleased when she took it. 

They walked arm in arm for the rest of the journey, neither of them saying much. In fact, the more they walked, the more sober Kassandra seemed to become, in more ways than one. Brasidas wasn’t surprised to find her in a reflective mood when they came within sight of her house. 

“So strange to be back here,” Kassandra said, almost to herself. Whether she meant the house or Sparta, he couldn’t say. 

“It is your home once again,” he said. 

“Mm,” she agreed. “Thanks to you, Brasidas.” 

He chuckled warmly. 

“ _What?_ ” she asked, joining in his laugh. 

“ _Well_ ,” he told her with a sidelong look, “I don’t remember winning the _pankration_ , or fighting warthirsty guerrillas in Boetia.” 

Kassandra shoved him with what she probably thought was a gentle touch. 

“You _know_ what I mean.” 

Brasidas raised both eyebrows, feigning ignorance. 

“Are you fishing for compliments, _General?_ ” she asked, the husky tone of her voice making his stomach tilt. 

He cleared his throat. 

“Well, I suppose it is nice to be appreciated…” 

“Oh, _fine_.” 

She took a moment to organize her thoughts. And when she spoke again, her voice was more serious. 

“You supported _mater_ and I, when so many of our countrymen would have been happier to exile us. The kings, too. I’ll never forget it, Brasidas.” 

“It was the right thing to do,” he said with a short bow. “Sparta is your home.” 

Kassandra stopped them a few paces from her front door, grasping his arm. Her honey-brown eyes were locked onto his, her gaze fierce and lingering. 

“You are a man of honor in a country of _snakes_ ,” she said. 

Brasidas lowered his head slightly. 

“It was the right thing to do,” he said again. 

Kassandra looked him over, unable to hide her disappointment. 

“Is that all you can say?” 

“No. However…” 

His eyes darted to the front of her home. Surely Myrrine was just inside, anxiously awaiting the return of the daughter she thought lost for so long. And surely… she was listening. 

Kassandra seemed to follow his insinuation, sighing. She put her hands behind her head and paced a few steps away (a view that Brasidas couldn’t help admiring). When she next spoke, her voice was much quieter. 

“Well, as long as I’m not… just…” 

She ran a hand through her hair, flustered in a way that surprised him. 

_Flustered in a way that *Kassandra of Sparta* wasn’t usually flustered._

“A-as long as you’re not just doing this for the kings, or something,” she said, gesturing between them. “As long as I’m not just another one of your spy cases to be… _handled_.” 

Brasidas took a step towards her, leaning in close enough that only she could hear him. There was a spark in his eyes that made Kassandra stop breathing. 

“ _Kassandra_ ,” he said in a voice so low it was positively sultry. “I am not so arrogant as to think I could handle _you_.” 

To his _absolute_ pleasure, Kassandra flushed, turning red from her face all the way down to her chest. Brasidas gave her a warm smile. 

“ _Chaire_ , Kassandra,” he said with a knowing look. 

She gave him that shy smile, that special look she only ever gave him. Her eyes sparkled with promise. 

“Good night, Brasidas. Sweet dreams.” 

*** 

That night, Brasidas did dream of her. 

He dreamt of that purple dress, long since discarded on his floor. 

He dreamt of putting his hands on her body, pressing her against his wall, growling into the curve of her neck. 

He dreamt of her soft, needy sighs in his ear, of the desperate way she begged his name as he palmed her every curve, of kissing her neck and nibbling her earlobe and whispering, “ _Ohhh, you are lovely_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> ***
> 
> In conclusion, marry Brasidas, kill Stentor, fuck Thaletas. ;) Thanks for reading!
> 
> I will confess to being Kassidas trash, and I'd love to return to their story one day. This chapter ended up being more about politics than I anticipated. I'm happy with how it came together, I'd love to explore the more intimate side of their relationship, e.g. when they finally stop circling around each other and get to smoochin'. If you enjoyed what I wrote here, please feel free to let me know! Encouragement is always nice, if you think you'd read more. :)


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